Cracked black leather revealed
veins in the old ballet slippers
exposed like the veins on a leaf,
a metaphor for her life.

The slippers hung on an
old wrought iron hook
nailed to a wood beam,
forged by an equally old lover.

The dance shoes dangled close
to where she sat each morning
relishing the drizzled light 
with coffee and birds.

Black slippers within her gaze
a reminder of younger adventures
as a dancer when
her movements were loose and free.

She laughed as she remembered when
she wore them one evening dancing
out the door of a college in Worcester,
donned in a yellow felt A-line mini dress.

She twirled into the arms of a
young man, amazed at the initial
connection, he noticed she was
wrapped in the scent of jasmine.

Remember how she could glide
across the stage
much like the red-tailed hawk
glides across the southern sky.

Her legs were wings whisking
across the the rivers in her mind
as she moved her chair, feeling
connected to her winged friends.